


mystery of faith

by valleyofmidnight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daddy Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Priests, Running Away, Sibling Incest, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valleyofmidnight/pseuds/valleyofmidnight
Summary: Dean says that priest smells like whiskey and cheap motels.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	mystery of faith

**Author's Note:**

> very small thing i wrote as a break from sebaciel. hope you enjoy!!

Dean says that priest smells like whiskey and cheap motels. He says this from the bed of a cheap motel, while you lay on the spare. Mostly unused. He says you shouldn't trust him, _that priest_ , that you can't trust anyone but him-- but he doesn't know all the things you've confessed, and you're sure this is his desperate attempt to get you back under his thumb, like you were when you were a kid. Curled up in his twin bed while Dad broke all the doors in the house.

Dean can tell it isn't working. He gets off the bed runs his hands through his hair. He says you never knew when someone's trying to take advantage of you. It makes you laugh. Dean has been taking advantage of you since you were old enough to open your mouth, old enough to beg him to stop. And now that there's someone _kind_ , someone willing to listen-- Dean doesn't like that very much, his chest swelling, fists tightening, and you feel a leap of anxiety that, if you unfocused your eyes, could be arousal. It's hard to separate those two. You guess you can blame that on Dean too. Or Dad. Hard to separate.

He moves towards you. You hit his arm, his face, but his hand makes it to your scalp anyway. He pulls down, forcing you flat on the bed, head on the end of the mattress. He never looks more like Dad than when you make him angry, then when he climbs on top and you and says he'll show you exactly where you belong. It's almost nostalgic. If you could, you would frame this moment, stick it in your wallet, carry it with you to the church and show everyone, _"this is where I belong, my big brother says so."_ You're sure they'd understand why you'll miss next week. The week after.

Dean has his hand over your mouth (it tastes like motor oil and crisco), his other hand down your jeans. It hurts more than it feels good, the pleasure a small silver lining on the massive storm cloud that is Dean. You can't even remember how he convinced you to do any of this in the first place, can't remember when this became just another part of the trip (stolen car, stolen credit cards, stolen virginity). Before this (the running away), Dean at least had an ounce of shame. Would lock the door, or rationalize everything. In these seedy motels, all he had to say was that he was your older brother, and what he said goes. Every time.

Dean always says once you turn eighteen, you better get your ass to college, better make something of yourself. But it's a paper-thin lie. Dean has quite a grip on you. You doubt he'd let you out of his sight for an hour, much less four years. With normal people, normal families, someone to confess to.

And that's why this priest scares him. Someone to tell all his sins to. Someone obligated to step in.

He forces his way inside you, and it always hurts, always make you scream and cry against his palm. He's whispering in your ear, telling you all sorts of shit you don't fucking care about. He's the only one who'll protect you. Anyone else is just trying to turn you against him. No one was there when Dad was at his worst, what makes you think anyone cares? Stupid shit. Shit you _know_ is untrue. It digs under your skin anyway.

Dean _was_ all you had in that house. Him and his stained fingertips, his bloody mouth. His canines know the topography of your skin better than the clothes on your back. He knows you better than anyone else.

You don't go to church after that. You stop dreaming of being cleansed, stop praying for God and all his angels to piece you back together again. If there was any way for you to be comfortable as an assortment of ceramic pieces, it would be under Dean's hands. You don't know how to reconcile that with God; but there's plenty of mysteries you don't have answers for.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave comments, kudos, etc. <3


End file.
